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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831566">Have a Drink on Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Ameriwoman/pseuds/Captain_Ameriwoman'>Captain_Ameriwoman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Piece of my Heart [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eskel's low self-image, F/M, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Mentioned Jaskier | Dandelion - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Pre-Relationship, both very brief!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:28:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831566</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Ameriwoman/pseuds/Captain_Ameriwoman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Eskel finds himself in a small town to restock his supplies and take advantage of an actual bed for the first time in weeks. He ends up agreeing to ride out to an old herbalist's hut with the woman behind the bar.<br/>And then, because nothing comes easy, there's a very pissed off witch in the back garden.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel (The Witcher) &amp; Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Piece of my Heart [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722637</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Have a Drink on Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eskel enters the inn late at night. He’s tired and hungry and he hopes that the stablehand that had taken his horse without protest was representative of the rest of the town. The inn isn’t anything particularly special, but it’s nicer than most places he stays on the Path. It’s clean, for one thing. There’s obviously the spills from tonight, but he can’t smell anything that would suggest that the owner has let it sink into the floorboards. Then there’s the smell wafting out from the kitchen. It makes his mouth water and his stomach grumble as he makes his way to the bar. He gets a few odd looks from patrons, but no one is outright glaring at him so he’ll take it. </p><p>The woman behind the bar looks up from where she’s cleaning out some tankards. Her light brown hair is pulled back into a bun, though it’s starting to fall out of the ribbon holding it in place. A few stray strands fall around her cheeks, swaying as she looks up. She flashes him a smile as she puts everything back under the bar. “What can I get for you?” she asks, leaning on the counter so she can be heard over the rest of the inn’s populace. </p><p>“Whatever smells so good, and a room for the night,” he says. He reaches for his coin purse, only for her to shake her head. He bites down a sigh. And here he thought he’d be able to sleep in a bed for once. </p><p>She rolls her eyes as she reaches under the counter. “You’re a Witcher, right?” she asks, setting a key in front of him. He nods, not asking how she can tell. There’s too many giveaways. “It’s on the house then.”</p><p>He stares at her. “What?” he manages. Because, really, <em>what</em>? </p><p>She laughs. “You do how much work for how little pay? It’s the least we can do,” she says. </p><p>“That seems like a bad business plan,” he says, still not quite processing that this woman not only isn’t kicking him out for being a Witcher but is giving him food and a room for free. No one does that, even the people who don’t think Witchers are as bad as the monsters they kill. </p><p>“One night and a plate or two won’t hurt, trust me,” she says. “Now I’ll be right back with your dinner.” She leaves him to his quiet shock. </p><p>He grabs the key she left him and turns it between his fingers. There’s a tag tied to the head of the key, a number written on it plainly. Must be the room number. That’s smart. It makes it so people don’t have to be shown their room. It would make it easier for whoever was working to keep an eye on the tavern, especially on busy nights. </p><p>He wonders why other inns haven’t gotten the same idea yet.</p><p>He’s shaken from his, quite frankly, pointless train of thought when the woman comes back and sets a plate in front of him. “You chose a good night,” she says. “Hunters had a good day. Fresh quail.”</p><p>“Really?” Eskel says, more to be polite than anything. He digs into the food. There are two whole birds on his plate, and they’re both covered in butter to get them a more appetizing brown without roasting them to a crisp. There are herbs and spices for flavor, and surrounding them are a healthy serving of various vegetables that pair well with the birds. </p><p>It’s quite possibly the best thing he’s eaten outside of Kaer Morhen. Geralt was always the one who got caught up with politics and nobility and in turn the better food they could afford. He was used to soup that was barely edible and gamey meat that might have a day left before it went off. </p><p>“Good?” she asks. She’s smiling at him again as she leans towards him. She slides a full tankard towards him in the same motion, and he accepts it with a small smile of his own. </p><p>“Very,” he replies before taking a long drink. And the ale was good too, none of the watered down bullshit other inns or taverns served him. “Thank you.”</p><p>That makes her grin even wider, making her eyes, a pale green he now notices, sparkle with it. “Happy to be of service,” she says. “Even if I had nothing to do with the cooking.”</p><p>“Give my regards to your cook,” he says between further bites. </p><p>“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. You need anything else?”</p><p>He shakes his head. “I’m alright.”</p><p>She hums. “Let me know if that changes.” With a nod from him, she moves back to where she’d been before he’d sat down and resumes her cleaning. He finishes his dinner and ale in peace, the general chatter of the tavern nothing more than background noise. It’s almost peaceful, in its own weird way. </p><p>People come and go around him, taking plates of food and tankards of ale for themselves and friends. No one gives him more than a passing glance. It’s a nice reprieve from most towns he finds himself in. They still flinch at the sight of his face, but no one screams. No one says a damn thing about it. As the night wears on, he eventually gets another serving of dinner (that she teases him over for not asking for sooner), and a few more rounds of beer. </p><p>Eventually his thoughts turn to the other reason he needed to head into a town: supplies. His rations could use being replenished, and the herbs he has for his potions have started dwindling more than he’s comfortable with. “Is there someone I could get food for the road from?” he asks the next time the woman comes by to fill his tankard. </p><p>“I can ask, have you some rations ready by the morning.”</p><p>“You have a lot of travelers, I take it.”</p><p>“You’d know it,” she replies. “We’ve always got something ready to go.”</p><p>“What about an herbalist?”</p><p>“Not at the moment,” she says. “Last one died and we’ve yet to have someone else move in.”</p><p>Fuck. Sure that might save him a few crowns, but with getting to stay here for free he suddenly has more to spare. This just makes finding everything he needs harder. “Think the plants at the last one’s place might still be there?” </p><p>“Maybe?” she says, tilting her head. “I could take you out there in the morning, though. You’d probably have a better idea than I do if what’s still there is usable.” </p><p>He shakes his head. “I can find it on my own. Don’t want to inconvenience you.”</p><p>That gets a laugh. “I’m going past it in the morning anyway, I have business in Winford.”</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah,” she says. “And if you don’t find what you need growing wild, they’ve got an apothecary who could at least point you in the right direction.”</p><p>“Sounds good. Thank you.”</p><p>“Of course! I’m heading out at sunrise, so I’ll meet you out by the stables?”</p><p>“I’ll be there,” Eskel promises. </p><p> </p><p>As he’s taking off his armor to get to sleep that night, he realizes with a start that the woman hadn’t reacted to his scars. </p><p>———— </p><p>In addition to him realizing that she hadn’t shown any sign of seeing his scars, Eskel also realizes that he never got her name. Or gave her his, for that matter. He’ll ask that in just a few moments, he decides as he heads down the stairs. The man behind the bar this morning is chipper for the early hour, smiling at him and waving. “Good morning, Master Witcher,” he greets as Eskel sits down at the bar. </p><p>“Morning,” he replies. The man bears a striking resemblance to the woman from last night, and as he looks older Eskel would wager he’s her father. Must be a family business, this inn. Assuming they don’t just both work here and the actual owner is off doing other things. Unlikely, but it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing he’s ever encountered. </p><p>The man ducks behind the counter and sets a weighty looking portion of dried meats and fruits, as well as a few loaves of bread. “Is this enough for ye?” he asks, popping back out. </p><p>Eskel stares at the rations. “More than,” he says. “I can’t-”</p><p>“You will,” the man says, crossing his arms. “Don’t you worry about putting us out or somethin’ else inane like that.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Eskel can’t help but ask; this is more than he manages to get in <em>cities.</em></p><p> </p><p>“Wouldn’t be offerin’ otherwise,” he says. He shakes his head with the same exasperation written on his face that his daughter had when she told him he could stay for free. “You want breakfast before heading out?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please.” The man nods his head, and disappears into the kitchen. He comes back a moment later with a simple bowl of porridge with various fresh fruits on a separate plate. He sets both down in front of him. </p><p> </p><p>“Nothin’ as fancy as last night, but Lanie’s not here this early,” he says. Eskel guesses that’s their cook.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine, thank you,” he says, and then gets to eating. The man leaves him to it, and Eskel appreciates it. He’s never been one for small talk, though he knows he’s better at it than any of his brothers. He wraps up the rations with the provided cloths. He heads outside with a simple farewell to the man who waves at him as he goes. </p><p> </p><p>He’s busy checking his saddlebags, making sure everything is secure and isn’t straining his mount, when the woman arrives. He waits until she’s actually near him before looking up — he knows from experience that most people don’t like to be reminded of his heightened senses. She smiles down at him from atop her horse. Her hair is loose today with only a few strands pulled back behind her head. He guesses it’s a popular trend currently, having seen a few other women in the tavern last night with their hair styled similarly. Her eyes seem to sparkle even in the faint light of dawn. </p><p> </p><p>“Good morning!” she chirps. She’s happy to see him. If not from her expression alone, he can smell it. It clouds the air around her, drifting towards him. She smells like vanilla and fresh grass, as well as beer from the tavern. It’s nice.</p><p> </p><p>He feels himself smiling back. “Morning. I’ll be ready in just a moment.”</p><p> </p><p>“Take your time. I like leaving this early so I <em>don’t</em> have to hurry.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel finishes with his bags and mounts his horse maybe two minutes later. The woman just watches him curiously the whole time. “How much did they give you?” she asks, tilting her head towards where he stored his new rations. One corner of a cloth is sticking out from the bag. She said they did this for a lot of travelers, so she must recognize it.</p><p> </p><p>He shrugs as they move out onto the road. “More than expected. Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s no problem,” she says. </p><p> </p><p>“So you insist.”</p><p> </p><p>She laughs at that. “Are all Witchers this stubborn?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s a common trait. We have to be or we don’t get paid.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” she hums. A beat passes, and then, “What’s your name?”</p><p> </p><p>He blinks. “Uh,” he says, like he hadn’t been planning on asking the same question to her.</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to. I don’t really know how Witcher-ing works, whether names are important or something. I just realized that we didn’t really introduce ourselves last night and I’m normally better at that sort of thing,” she says, giving him a sheepish smile. He can smell the change in her mood, souring slightly from the cheer she carried earlier to something closer to embarrassment. “I’m Rielle, by any means.”</p><p> </p><p>“Eskel,” he says. “And it’s no secret, at least not for me. I was about to ask you the same thing.” </p><p> </p><p>The scent of embarrassment fades nearly immediately after he says that. It’s replaced by something akin to sunflowers in the spring, sweet and sunny. He feels warmth coil in his stomach. Warmth that he promptly ignores; it has no right to be there, he’s known Rielle for all of a few hours. For fuck’s sake, it’s embarassing that all it takes is someone being nice to him to get him to want to stick around long enough to make friends. </p><p> </p><p>“Well then, Eskel,” she says, not picking up on his internal dilemma, “Let’s get going!”</p><p> </p><p>The ride out of town is quiet besides early morning bird song. As they get farther out of town, Rielle starts humming. It’s pleasant. Nothing too loud as to be obnoxious, but it’s a nice background noise. “What business do you have in Winford?” The question comes out without him thinking of it, and she flinches at the sudden noise. He can’t blame her, he would have himself if he hadn’t been the one to speak. And, well, if he wasn’t a Witcher and had such things trained out of him years ago. Still, he understands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s fine!” she says, looking over at him. “I’m in a play at the moment. We’re running dress rehearsals this week, which means we have to be there early. Makeup and hair take forever when you want to make sure everyone can see it even in the back row.”</p><p> </p><p>He wouldn’t know. He hasn’t ever had the time to stop and watch a group of performers, normally being run out of town long before he had the chance to even hear that some were around. He opts not to mention that, instead asking her about her role. She seems to brighten impossibly more, chattering on about her character and the play at large. He thinks he’s heard of the story before. </p><p> </p><p>There’s only one female role, played by Rielle, as the daughter of the main character. He’s a sorcerer of some kind who used to be a duke but had the title stolen and was left to die at sea with his daughter. They survived — Rielle skips over the how, but he figures that's par for the course for plays — and years later the man has a chance to get revenge on the people who wronged him. He shipwrecks them on his island and torments them using his magic and a spirit helper. The king’s son is drawn to the sorcerer and his daughter (Eskel absently wonders when a king got involved), and then the two fall in love. Rielle skips over the majority of the rest of play, saying it’s mostly just the sorcerer getting his revenge on the men who usurped him only to realize that he’s gotten revenge enough by getting his daughter married to the king’s son and by having the king regret his actions. “Then they go back across the sea to home, with the spirit promised release if he keeps the seas steady for their travel. The sorcerer gets his title back, and they all live happily ever after!”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel hums. It’s a pretty sentiment, if entirely unrealistic. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t know if she doesn’t notice his skepticism or if she simply chooses to ignore it. Either way, she points towards the woods to their left that have been thickening steadily as they progressed. “The cottage is just ahead.” He nods, and keeps his eyes peeled for it. </p><p> </p><p>He spots it just as Rielle turns off the main road. It’s nestled between two large oak trees, nearly hidden in the shade. There’s a semblance of a dirt road leading to it, but it’s barely more than a few spots of dirt amongst the grass and weeds. It seems this herbalist didn’t get many visitors. He nudges his horse after her and takes in the smell. He can pick up on at least a few herbs he needs for his potions. A good start.</p><p> </p><p>Rielle dismounts and ties her reins around a low hanging branch on the left tree and he follows suit. He pulls his herb pouch from where it stays in the saddlebags when he doesn’t need it, slinging it over his shoulder. Rielle walks a few paces to stand in front of the cottage. She’s frowning, and he doesn’t like it. “You alright?” he asks, standing next to her. </p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. “Been a few months. I forgot how much this place gave me the heebie jeebies.”</p><p> </p><p>“And you offered to take me here anyway?” he asks, raising a brow. </p><p> </p><p>“Sue me for wanting to spend a bit more time with a handsome stranger,” she says with a huff. That leaves Eskel reeling, almost as if he’s been thrown into a tree by a particularly strong monster. Handsome? She thinks he’s <em> handsome</em>? <em> Him,</em> of all people? And, fuck, she must see an awful lot of people if she works at an inn in a town that size, so where the hell did she get the misconception that someone like him is handsome? Most people can barely stand to look at him, and here she is, calling him handsome like it’s nothing. He knows people have different “types,” but this is fucking ridiculous. </p><p> </p><p>He knows what he looks like. Geralt’s Child Surprise screamed the first time she saw him, for fuck’s sake. Even hardened soldiers flinch at the sight of him when he goes to talk about a contract. People usually steer clear of him in the street. He normally has to pay extra in brothels, as the whores are put off by just about everything above his waist. So the idea of someone thinking he’s handsome is as likely as a drowner growing wings. </p><p> </p><p>She probably just said it to be nice. </p><p> </p><p>“And besides,” she says, drawing him out of his own thoughts, “I thought that the place would be less creepy once Mentia was dead.”</p><p> </p><p>Mentia must have been the old herbalist. “You not like her?” Eskel asks, pushing past the multitude of unpleasant thoughts about his appearance swirling around his head. There were other, more important things to be focusing on at the moment. Like the fact that as he takes a few steps closer to the house, his medallion vibrates ever so slightly against his chest. </p><p> </p><p>“Not really,” Rielle says. He notes that she’s not made any move to get closer to the cottage. “She was kinda shit at her chosen profession. Also she was involved with witches, so that didn’t help matters much.”</p><p> </p><p>That catches his attention. “Witches?” If the witches were here long enough or if there were enough of them here, it could explain why his medallion is detecting magic. Whatever they’d been doing could have left residual traces around the area. </p><p> </p><p>She nods and crosses her arms. “I’ve met another Witcher,” she says. Fucking <em> hell,</em> this woman was full of surprises. He wonders if that Witcher is the reason she was so insistent he keep his coin. “He dealt with them.” </p><p> </p><p>“Less for me to do then,” he says, trying for a joke. He doesn’t like the way the mood has shifted from their ride over here. She only hums in response. “You don’t have to come with me,” he says a moment later, quieter. </p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” she says, glancing at him. “I guess there’s more here left for me to unpack than I thought there was. Didn’t really like Mentia, but having her killed in front of me for helping witches kidnap and murder people is still…” She trails off, waving one hand vaguely when she can’t find the word she wants. </p><p> </p><p>Still, he gets it. He might be used to death and dismay, but most people weren’t. Not that close or violently, at least. He doesn’t blame whatever Witcher had come through here before him. He doesn’t like killing humans, but aiding that sort of thing is where he draws a line. He can tell Rielle feels the same way. She just would have preferred not to have a front row seat to it. </p><p> </p><p>“You mind if I poke around inside? She might have had stores or-”</p><p> </p><p>“You do whatever you want,” she says. “I’m just not coming with. Oh, and she had a garden out back. Said things grew better in the woods or some shit like that.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods. “I’ll be back soon, and then we can move on to Winford.”</p><p> </p><p>She gives him a thumbs up, and he walks up to the front door. It swings open easily. Figures that they wouldn’t have bothered locking it if no one was living there anymore. The thrum of his medallion picks up as he enters the cottage and he suddenly understands what Rielle had meant by heebie jeebies. There’s an odd sort of aura in the space. He’d go so far as to say oppressive. The bloodstain on the wooden floor doesn’t help matters, but he suspects that’s from Mentia’s death. </p><p> </p><p>Everything looks normal, aside from that. There’s a desk against one wall with a chair sitting a little ways away from it like whoever had been sitting there was planning on sitting back down later and therefore hadn’t bothered pushing it back in. Jars of all sizes and shapes are scattered along every flat surface. There are a few bookshelves that have shelves dedicated to them, most having only one or two rows of books before the jars start. Then there are the pots placed around the room. He can tell they were placed depending on where the sun would be. He pokes around the main room, taking whatever he can and shoving it in his bag. He can sort through everything later. </p><p> </p><p>This place is putting him on edge the longer he stays here. </p><p> </p><p>He works his way towards the back. His medallion is making its protests known, the vibrations increasing with every step. Ignoring the room the off-putting aura seems focused around, he swings open the door to what turns out to be the bedroom. He doubts he could find anything of use in here, but he might as well <em> look.</em> What’s the harm in that?</p><p> </p><p>Shockingly, he doesn’t find anything except an old diary that he skims through. It seems like what Rielle said about the herbalist working with witches wasn’t an exaggeration. What else he reads there makes his stomach churn. He understands even more clearly why this other Witcher had disposed of Mentia so effectively. </p><p> </p><p>He goes back into the main room and looks at the lone remaining door with a growing sense of dread. Having read what he did, he suspects he knows what he’ll find in there. </p><p> </p><p>The medallion’s vibrations are nearly constant now as he opens the door. He can feel the magic left over from what Mentia had been doing for the witches in his teeth, similar to the weird way one can taste electricity in the air during a storm. </p><p> </p><p>To someone who doesn’t know what they’re looking at or who have no sense for magic, it would seem to be just another workspace. Smaller and darker, better suited for plants that preferred the small amounts of sunlight to grow. Vines crawl up the walls with small flowers in various shades. One table had a spread of rocks with lichens and mosses growing on them (he suspects at an accelerated rate). Some of them are glowing faintly. Then there’s a wall of terrariums, full of regular seeming bugs and other small creatures. Not many, but enough for what Mentia was making. </p><p> </p><p>To <em> him</em>, it’s like being hit in the face with a wall of dark magic. The ingredients in here aren’t magic on their own for the most part. Most seem to have been infused with it at various stages in their growth to make it work for the potion the witches had Mentia make them. Once a season every season for the past five years — according to the diary, since Mentia had moved here. The room oozes magical energy that’s built up over the years. He steps back out and slams the door shut. </p><p> </p><p>He wonders if Rielle would mind if he set this place on fire. Then he wonders why the last Witcher hadn’t done that. <em> Then </em> he absently wonders if Rielle doesn’t have some sort of connection to magic, even if it’s just being able to sense it in a small fashion. Most humans don’t but, again, he suspects this is the source of her heebie jeebies. </p><p> </p><p>Scrapings of the lichen and moss, cuttings from the vines, petals from the flowers, wings or legs from the bugs, tails and eyes from the rest… All of it went into a potion that ended up needing human blood to activate it. An elixir for extending the life of whoever drank it. It’s the type of magic no one sensible would use. And yet the witches in the wood made it work for at least five years. They probably used it longer, just elsewhere. </p><p> </p><p>He snarls at the thought. How many people had died due to their vanity? How many homeless people were snatched away under the cover of darkness? How many travellers never made it to their destination? How many husbands or wives, sons or daughters went out on an errand never to return?</p><p> </p><p>He pinches the bridge of his nose. It doesn’t matter now. The witches responsible for this are dead. “Dealt with,” that’s what Rielle had said. So before he even thinks of burning this godsforsaken place to the ground, he’s going to go look around the back garden. He needs the supplies despite how this place makes him feel. </p><p> </p><p>Stepping into the back garden doesn’t settle his medallion any. That more than anything in the house sets him on edge. None of the plants back here feel tampered with, likely due to the fact that anyone could come back here. It would be too risky to have things like that out in the open. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks, and this could be a stretch, that the reason his medallion feels like it’s trying to rip free from its chain is the presence of a young-looking woman at the far edge of the garden. She looks up at him in surprise as she steps fully out of the woods. There are wrinkles along the edge of her face that are more obvious in the light, as well as streaks of grey running through her otherwise blond hair. She’s wrapped in a long black cloak, obscuring most of her figure. </p><p> </p><p>He can feel the magical aura emanating from her even from here. </p><p> </p><p>It seems that whoever was here missed one of the witches.</p><p> </p><p>She looks him over in the same way he’d examined her and her eyes narrow as her face twists into a sneer. “Witcher!”</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t even bother trying to say that he’s not the Witcher that killed the rest of her coven. Instead, he draws his silver sword and prepares for the coming fight. </p><p> </p><p>Magic crackles in the air around him and he nimbly dives out of the way of the incoming blast. If he hadn’t moved, he would have been flung into the brick wall of the cottage. He’s broken enough bones from impacts like that to be briefly thankful that she telegraphed the move so well. </p><p> </p><p>He comes out of his roll much closer to her. A few more quick steps and he’s within striking distance. His sword catches the light as it arcs towards her, only to end up hitting nothing. She’s back across from him and he grits his teeth to keep from growling. She’s using her magic to make herself faster. Great. </p><p> </p><p>It continues on like that for a minute or two. He dodges the various spells she throws at him while trying to get Yrden down close enough to slow her long enough for him to make contact. She’s taken to screaming now, howling about how her sisters hadn’t been hurting anyone (a blatant lie) and that they didn’t deserve to die (debatable at best). It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. He mostly tunes it out.</p><p> </p><p>As focused as he is on the threat at hand, he misses the sound of footsteps coming around the side of the cottage until they’re much too close. Everything seems to freeze, both him and the witch pausing in their actions to look at the owner of the footsteps. Rielle is standing at the corner of the building. Her eyes are wide as she looks back at the two of them, like she hadn’t been expecting it. Considering she’d probably decided to come see what the shouting was about, he doubts that. </p><p> </p><p>A beat passes and no one moves.</p><p> </p><p>Rielle is the first to do so, her hands shooting up into the air to show she’s unarmed. The witch is next. She casts another spell, and it hits Eskel hard enough to send him sprawling. He curses as he hits the hard ground and his sword skitters away from him. His back protests the impact. He’s done contracts before where someone insisted on tagging along to “make sure,” so he has practice not getting distracted by shit like this. And yet…</p><p> </p><p>He rolls over. Or, rather, he <em> tries </em>to roll over, only to discover vines or roots or some other shit wrapping around his body. The roots, because he figures he’ll settle on one word for them for the time being, drag his hands up above his head. He’s effectively pinned to the ground. </p><p> </p><p>He growls. </p><p> </p><p>The witch ignores him, instead looking at Rielle. “Why are you here?” she asks, stepping towards her.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave her out of this, you fucking-” The witch waves her hand absently in his direction and a new root pops out of the ground and fits itself between his teeth. <em> Great</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Rielle glances past the witch at him, but only for a moment. “My da made me bring him out here,” she says. Eskel frowns around the root. That’s not what happened at all, but he can’t smell the sharp tang of a lie. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>“He knew I had practice in Winford and figured I could “spare the time” to show him,” she says. She sounds annoyed, and more than a bit fearful. </p><p> </p><p>The witch cocks her head. “You don’t like him?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ma’am, did you know Mentia?” Rielle asks, not answering her question. </p><p> </p><p>“Yes, but what does she-”</p><p> </p><p>“The last time I had to take a Witcher out here, he killed her in front of me. He forced me into showing him this lovely little place — it’s rather hard to say no to a man twice your size with two very large swords, don’t you know — and then he threatened a very good friend of mine and proceeded to slit her throat like it was nothing! And he had the gall to tell me to take care of it while he ran off into the woods!” Rielle drops her arms about halfway through her little diatribe and uses them to punctuate her sentences. At the end of it, her arms come to rest across her chest, like she’s hugging herself. “There was so much blood, I don’t-” Her breath hitches like she’s about to cry, and the witch makes a sympathetic noise. </p><p> </p><p>“I am aware,” she says, “and he did the same to my sisters. I was visiting my parents-” </p><p> </p><p><em> Fucking hell,</em> Eskel thinks.</p><p> </p><p>“-only to return to find them all dead. It was terrible.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry,” Rielle says, voice soft and sad. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel can’t see the witch’s face, but he can almost hear the smile on her face. He can definitely smell the change in her mood. “It’s not your fault, child,” she says, cupping Rielle’s face. His stomach churns and he lets out another growl. He doesn’t know what the hell is going on here, but he doesn’t like her touching Rielle. “These Witchers have no manners. They never stop to talk before they start waving their swords about. Did he hurt you?”</p><p> </p><p>Rielle shakes her head. “No, but…”</p><p> </p><p>“But?”</p><p> </p><p>Rielle glances at him once more, but he can’t make out her expression. Her face seems scared still, but her eyes don’t match it. Neither does her scent. It doesn’t make any fucking sense! “He didn’t pay for his room, or food, or anything,” she says. “Some sort of Witcher thing.” </p><p> </p><p><em> What the fuck is happening? </em> Eskel thinks, staring in disbelief at Rielle. She’d insisted on him not paying for anything, and now she’s saying it like he’s the fucking devil!</p><p> </p><p>“Did he now?” the witch hisses, turning on her heel to look at him. Behind her, Rielle catches his eye. She flashes him a smile, and then she-</p><p> </p><p>She winks at him. </p><p> </p><p>Fucking hell, maybe it’s a good thing that bitch gagged him. As it is, the strained sound he makes at the sight of that is muffled to where he’s pretty sure neither of them heard it. Certainly not with the witch complaining about how uncivilized Witchers were, and a bunch of other shit he’s heard before. </p><p> </p><p>The witch is standing above him a second later. “My dear, would you come here?”</p><p> </p><p>Rielle blinks. He can actually smell the confusion this time, so he at least knows that whatever is going on with her isn’t just a problem on his end. “Uh, what is it?” she says. She hesitantly steps up next to the witch.</p><p> </p><p>“I can sense a great potential in you,” the witch says, looking at her. “If you practiced, I’m sure you could be great at magic. I could train you, if you wished.”</p><p> </p><p>Rielle isn’t the only one surprised by that. “Really?” she asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Certainly. My sisters are dead, but we were often talking about taking apprentices. It would be my honor if you would agree to study under me,” she says. </p><p> </p><p>Eskel feels like his thoughts keep circling back to one thought: what the fuck. </p><p> </p><p>Rielle seems to be in the same boat. “I don’t know what to say,” she says in a way that could be interpreted as humble acceptance, but he thinks she means just what she said. “And, uh, not to pivot the conversation too much, but aren’t there other, uh, things to deal with, at the moment?”</p><p> </p><p>The witch sighs and glares down at him. “I suppose there are.”</p><p> </p><p>Rielle nods. “I’m gonna go grab his sword,” she says, pointing at where it lays a few feet away. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?” the witch asks. Eskel would have asked the same thing, if he could have. </p><p> </p><p>“Witchers have magic, right? I don’t know how it works, but what if he can drag it over or something? Kill you from behind without you noticing?”</p><p> </p><p>Smiling, the witch claps her hands. “How very clever! Yes, you go and do that while I think of a fitting way to end his pathetic little life.”</p><p> </p><p>Eskel watches as Rielle walks over to his sword. She struggles to pick it up, and he hears a breathless “Fuck” once she manages it. Meanwhile, the witch is muttering under her breath as Rielle drags it back over to where she’s standing over him. </p><p> </p><p>What happens next is, all things considered, pretty anticlimactic. </p><p> </p><p>Rielle grunts and the silver blade glints as it’s hefted upwards. The witch gurgles as the tip suddenly appears through her throat, blood spraying from the wound. With an awkward shove, Rielle sends the witch to the ground next to him. “Fuck me,” she breathes out. He can’t help but agree with the sentiment. </p><p> </p><p>She’s left holding a bloody sword.</p><p> </p><p>Eskel’s never seen anything quite like her. </p><p> </p><p>She’s staring at the dead body in front of her, eyes wide in shock. Her scent mixes with the metallic tang of blood, a heady mixture that sets his head spinning. Her grip on his sword is strong even with how it’s evidently too heavy for her, more so now that she’s only holding it with one hand. There’s blood staining her trousers and part of her blouse. She reaches up to push her hair out of her face, and she leaves a streak of blood behind on her cheek. </p><p> </p><p>He breaks the moment with a muffled grunt. His sword hits the ground with a solid thunk as she flinches. He tugs at the roots holding him down and she nods. “Right, yeah, just a sec,” she says. He’s expecting her to awkwardly use his sword to cut through them, but to his surprise she pulls a wicked looking dagger out of one of her boots. “I travel alone a lot,” she says in explanation, seeing his surprised look. </p><p> </p><p>She cuts his hands free first, then his mouth. “Thank you,” he says awkwardly. He starts rubbing feeling back into his hands as she works on the roots tangled over the rest of his body. </p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. “I mean, I think I’m the reason you ended up like this, yeah? So I owed you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You just killed someone,” he points out. “For a total stranger.”</p><p> </p><p>The last of the roots falls away from his ankle, whispering against the leather of his boot as it slithers to the ground. “It’s not exactly my first, just the first one I’ve had to actually look at instead of leaving them in the dirt.” Right, the whole <em> travel alone </em> thing. He supposes that makes sense, he’s dealt with bandits himself. “And anyway, you’re less of a stranger than she was,” Rielle says. She stands back up and extends him a hand. While he doesn’t need it, he takes it anyway. </p><p> </p><p>“Why?” The question slips out unbidden. </p><p> </p><p>“You gave me your name and we had a lovely little chat on the way over here.”</p><p> </p><p>“I meant why did you do <em> that</em>,” he clarifies, gesturing to the corpse. “What she was offering…”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m perfectly happy with my lot in life,” Rielle says, rolling her eyes. “And she could have been talking out of her ass for all I know. Actually, you’d probably know about that. Was she?”</p><p> </p><p>“Partially. I think you might be more sensitive to magical energies than most humans, but you’re certainly no sorceress.”</p><p> </p><p>Her lips twist into a tired smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. And even if she was entirely genuine, I don’t like the idea of sacrifices and all that.”</p><p> </p><p>“You knew about that?”</p><p> </p><p>“The other Witcher told me before he legged it.”</p><p> </p><p>While on the subject of this other Witcher… “You were lying, but I couldn’t tell. I wouldn’t have known if I hadn’t been there for parts of it. How?”</p><p> </p><p>“I spent how long telling you I was an actress?” she retorts.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve met actors before, none of them were able to do that.”</p><p> </p><p>She shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you,” she says. “I just imagined it as a role and went for it. It worked, didn’t it?”</p><p> </p><p>“You could have been hurt if it hadn’t,” he says. He kneels next to the dead witch, grabbing his sword with one hand. He severs her head, just to be sure, and then wipes the blade clean on her cloak. </p><p> </p><p>“And what was your plan, <em> Master Witcher</em>?” she asks, raising a brow at him. </p><p> </p><p>He grunts. “Not the point.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm, alrighty then. I’ll accept your concern and try not to poke too much, how’s that sound? For now, let’s just be happy that we’re alive and she’s off with the rest of her coven at last.”</p><p> </p><p>“You have any idea how the last guy missed her?”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, she <em> said </em>she was out of town. Or out of the woods, as it were.”</p><p> </p><p>“They were killing one person every season, and that elixir lasts a year.”</p><p> </p><p>“And he was busy saving his friend’s life. Other things on his mind, I’m sure.”</p><p> </p><p>Now that’s interesting. Not many Witchers knew people long enough to consider them friends. Most of the time it was people that lived as long as they did, either other Witchers or mages. Now he’s actually curious as to who the other Witcher was. </p><p> </p><p>He’s about to ask when she beats him to it: “I can tell you on the way to Winford. Assuming you still want to go?”</p><p> </p><p>He nods. “But first, how do you feel about never seeing this shithole again?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They leave the cottage burning behind them. She tells him what happened, and seems excited that he knows Geralt. Less so that he hasn’t met Jaskier, but he assauges that by telling her he’s heard plenty from Geralt over the winters at Kaer Morhen. In town, he agrees to come with her to explain what happened to her troupe leader. By the end of it, Rielle’s as far from being in trouble for being late as she could be. </p><p> </p><p>She pulls him into a hug before he goes off to look for the town’s apothecary. Her eyes shine with the intensity of her smile as she lets him go. “Safe travels, Eskel. Maybe I’ll see you again someday.”</p><p> </p><p>He nods, feeling his cheeks heat. “You as well, Rielle. Another time.” It shouldn’t feel so much as a promise as it does, but he doesn’t care. Bare minimum, he now knows of an inn where he can stay for free. That’ll help if he’s ever short on money. </p><p> </p><p>Yes, money. That’s definitely the only reason he thinks of returning someday. It has nothing to do with pale green eyes, long brown hair, vanilla and fresh grass, and a red smear on a cheek. Nothing at all. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The play Rielle describes is The Tempest by Shakespeare, because I needed something to describe and it wasn't a tragedy or Taming of the Shrew (the only other Shakespeare I've read rip).<br/>I'm planning on making this a series! More things with Rielle/Eskel, as well as some actual content with everyone's fav boys Geralt and Jaskier. Also Lambert, because I can. I just want everyone to be happy, y'know?<br/>Assuming my brain decides to work, I'll even finish the story with what happened with Geralt, Jas, and the coven!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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